Good Morning

Prejudices rule the world. The moment you hear of “The United States of America”, all we imagine is dollars in millions, super sexy cars, a chic home & a swanky lifestyle. Then, reality bites. One session of recession and millions of dollars being dolled out to save the companies who sold the super car, to keep the chic home & live in a style which suddenly turns from swanky to swampy.

This has nothing to do with my being married to a Tamilian. And no, my wife does not want to relocate to the US either. But, think South India and you imagine Idli, Dosa & Vada-Sambhar, only, right? Well, wrong. I have lived down south for 4 years. That’s a long time for ignorance to turn to frustration, frustration into depression which leads to hate. Am sure, a lot of people took this route. Or else, why such a prejudice? I loved most of my stay days there, and not just the food. People define culture. I loved the people there. For all I know, I may be one of the lucky few who found good south Indians to interact with at every occasion during the entire 4-year stint there. Who knows? Anyhow, I have come to believe that South Indians, especially, Tamilians are the most straight forward, a little rustic & yet well mannered, simple thinking & simple living people. They are very unlike most north Indians, especially Delhites who love to show off. Infact, I am inclined to state they don’t know how to show off! Most of my class mates in B-School were from business families. Parents of few would drive in to meet their kids in Mercedes cars. Some of them own rice/flour mills, some run more than a dozen petrol pumps on national highways & some have flourishing textile and/or spare parts factories. And you could not make a difference. I still don’t know why do most people there don’t tuck in their shirts, love wearing slippers to work, change into lungis in the next given opportunity & love curd rice so much!

And then, there is this one batch mate whose father has a transport company running more than 30 trucks (give or take a few, I don’t remember the exact number now). At first glance, this guy was the true picture of a typical south Indian dude you could imagine. He had a purple colored bike, had more than one purple colored jeans, worn matching with green or yellow shirts mostly. He had a short but stout figure & certainly believed he was Cupid’s gift to both sexes. Most batch mates did not like him initially. Many, I guess would still avoid him. He loved himself. From day one, he was sure, he was not in B-School for a job. He had bigger plans. He wanted to be an entrepreneur. Our initial interactions with him were only because only north Indians on campus smoked & his room mate happened to be one. During the course of time spent alongside, we became good friends. How much of good friends? Well, can’t really measure the intensity. Infact, after I left Chennai we have met only once in the last 6 years & spoken thrice.

The fourth time he called me in the last week of March this year, saying he is visiting Delhi over business. We wanted to meet, but he had a flight to catch the same evening & wanted a favor. He said someone will deliver some money in cash to me which I was supposed to deposit in his bank account! I said, “ok, but how much is the amount? ” He said, “ten lacs”. I think the phone fell off my palm because there was a long silence & when I recollected my thoughts & perhaps the phone, I heard him saying he is carrying twenty five lacs in cash with him!! I had not seen one lac in cash together in my life & the next day someone was delivering ten lacs!! What happened with the money comes sometime later.

My submission, he too could have lived with the typical north Indian prejudice and never handover his hard earned, hard cash of such a magnitude to a north Indian, living in Delhi with whom he has not spoken in years. He chose his instinct & friendship. His company creates blended coffee, by the brand name, Good Morning. Let us all wake up!!

I - Speak

Some people who know me, and ofcourse some who don’t know me, may think that I am being a typical bong by supporting another. I don’t mind. Because, I have always believed, I don’t mind, because I don’t have a mind! Anyhow, I had almost decided to write a Bong Series (Coming Soon - The Bong Identity, The Bong Supremacy & The Bong Ultimatum). How can Bongs be covered in one single page!!

I always finish my write up in one single page, about 700 words. I know, I know, I have started boasting too much. I just cant’ help it. I am getting rave reviews from the 2 ½ fans who religiously read my blog and comment. Why the ½? Coz, two of them have names, one is an anonymous commentor!!

Mr. Somnath Chatterjee roared as Speaker during the Parliament’s Question Hour to all MPs present “…this session is suspended sine die. You are wasting public money. You don’t deserve to be here. I am sure voters will realize & wish you loose in the next elections…...” I may have said more than what Mr. Chatterjee said exactly. But, I never said “ad verbatim” either! But the intent is very clear. I am not proclaiming what he did or said as right or wrong. He spoke like a true passionate Bengali.

In the lives of all of us, there comes that few times when someone takes over the reins of our control. Control on our speech, on our body, our reflexes, probably the whole of us. We tend to just forget everything around us, who we are representing, the position we hold, how people want us to behave. In those moments the most unweighed, unprejudiced, pure & raw emotions, which most of the times are distasteful to others & could be harmful to “I” come out in the open. But “I” tolerated many a times, bore the brunt of acting diplomatic, suffered too much for being the way she is not. Thresholds are barred and “I” cannot take it anymore. That is when “I” takes over us. For those few moments, we just become, “I”.

Ofcourse, Mr. Chatterjee did not mean any real harm or curse in reality any of the MPs present or absent during the session (there is never 100% attendance at Parliament). He knows & we all know, what he wished will never come true either. Public money will be wasted time & again. Question Hour will remain a question mark in Parliament. Most of the dumb asses present & absent will be re-elected courtesy our dumm-o-cracy. But the real Somnath probably could not take it anymore. He had been watching the parliamentary circus for days and months. As a speaker, he was helpless. How long can someone try making jumping monkeys climb down & sit at one place? Wish as one may against it, there will always remain a clear difference between literate & educated people. The ones who can barely read & write, do so barely, existing all their lives. Ones who understand what they read & write what they think is right cannot barely exist. They need to live life. That is when these sudden crazy moments of truth come along to ensure one is breathing & living life on “I” terms.

Just can’ help but compare Mr. Chatterjee to a character of my school days! Have you ever heard of a cricket coach chasing the best batsman of the team with a bat raised in his hands, between a match, only because he lifted the ball in the air in the gap to take two runs. He was instructed to play on the ground & take singles! Have you ever heard about a teacher who, leave alone a slap, actually kicked the School Captain infront of the entire school! He was one man who could not withstand any misdemeanor infront of him. Once caught, one had to not just bear a tight slap, but some real chaste & passionate Bengali curses from this true passionate Bengali. He had trysts with his “I” more often that Mr. Chatterjee for sure.

Mr. Pankaj Kumar Bagchi. Banga as we still fondly call him, hope is still the same firebrand as we remember him. He is our very own Royal ‘Banga’ Tiger!

Kiss & Make Up

I really don’t know how many people would be interested to read any further the moment I mention my inspiration to write this piece. But then once you go past the initial shock, I am hoping it would make some sense to many. Couple of days back I was switching channels and I stopped at an interview session of one of the actors who am sure is no competition to any of the top stars of our film industry and yet according to me is envied more than hated. I believe people are jealous of him more than actually disliking him. And it is not for his acting talent but to make most of his films “a must watch” just because of the trailers of the film. I still cherish the mornings when we used fight for the radio to hear trailers of latest movies followed by half rendition of the most promising song from the movie. I believe that’s how the man who made play back singing of ‘sex-symbol’ status – Kedarnath Bhattacharya or Kumar Sanu as we know him became a sex symbol. More about him later.

If you are still reading, hold your breath. Now props the name that needs introduction no more the moment the name is spelt. He is Emran Hashmi. Why is he infamous, everyone knows. Why I think he is felt jealous of, is for the same reason. On top of it, the number of hits songs; some amazingly romantic, some soothing & some foot tapping scores, filmed on him makes a unique combination to match. At first instant, I cannot recollect any one having such a fan following, with as many hits & ofcourse, as many lip locks as he has. Suddenly, another face comes onto my screen. A face, who has been lovingly acclaimed for almost all films that he has done. Ironically, one movie where he is disowned by the movie goers, reviewers & makers who royally “Mughlai-fry” him has Emran’s most (in)famous onscreen lip smacker as his co-star. This man has been associated with the so-called parallel cinema since he first acted in “The English August”. A great book, I hear; an amazing movie, I swear. (Do I rhyme?)

To me, Rahul Bose is the intellectual man’s Emran Hashmi. Most guys, I mean, men who are straight, would want to get into the ‘act’ as many times as Emran or Rahul would have. But it’s the Emrans who are typecast as the ones with ‘fire under the belly’ whereas; Rahuls are the ones with “fire in their belly’. I don’t remember a movie in which Rahul Bose has not locked lips with his heroine. Softly or wildly, is not the question. He has done what Emran has. But it’s poor Emran who is being burnt in the fire and Rahul is the man of desire. (Did I rhyme again?) No hero does what he does on his own accord. It’s the Director. Infact, it’s what the script demands! Isn’t it? Now, I don’t know if they change the script after a hero signs? Or a hero signs after reading a script & knowing all the nitty-gritty details of it. However, there remains some common thread between the two. Someone must be giving them tips, about the lips. (Oops, am I writing prose or poetry? I rhyme again!!)

Thinking back of occasions when two people with the same performance, one being applauded & the other sidelined by being criticized as that’s what were expected of her/him and that’s all s/he can do!! Could I think of any? I could not stop counting how many times would have I been on either sides of the coin. Be it as a kid in school, in college, at home or at work, with friends or relatives or the so called judges of the situation. I mean there have been times when my siblings have been spanked for doing the same thing for which I have got away with just a little scolding. I have been suspended to bunk class & someone has been just let off with a wink. When I was caught red handed by my father smoking during college days, I was almost disowned. One of my friends had his pocket money increased for his new habit!!

We all believe we control our lives. Some things may be under our control. Some things are never under our control. And yet some which you think are under your control but are actually just perceptions, in the minds of others & self. The best we can do is trying and manage them. Infact, Perception Management is what we do, most of our lives. As kids with our parents and as parents with our kids. As an employee with our employer and as a Boss with our subordinates. As an actor, like a star & vice versa.

I don’t know if Emran wanted such a perception. Or for that matter, if Rahul has created his image. But both of them are sure enjoying what they do… kiss & make up for their roles.

The Mystery Trip

Till date, no one has given me a sound logic as to why the second Saturday of every month be a holiday in school? Not that it hurt us in any way. Well, to some it sure did. With the second Saturday coming, Class VI had a bad Friday night. Most of them would be washing shirts & trousers of seniors. After all it would be the much waited Mussoorie Trip. Class VII & VIII would be CKs (care keepers) in the dormitory so that the masseurs & washers would not get caught by the warden. When asked why not a Sunday trip, the reason was on second Sundays our school girls used to have an outing to town. As if on second Saturdays all girls on earth became deaf, dumb & blind. Why Mussoorie trips on second Saturdays was not the single mystery on this trip. There remain some more.

Class VI would wonder why is it that this particular senior would ask us to wash, dry & then early morning run to the dhobi to get his shirt & trouser ironed on every trip? If one knows second Saturday is coming, why wear the same shirt for three consecutive days, dirty it like a coalmine worker & then make us scrub it like a fisherman’s drab? As per rule, every student needs to have “eight white shirts” & “four grey trousers” which is supposedly physically counted by every House Master. Mr. Bhatt certainly did it for each & every boy in his House. And still, this would happen before every second Saturday, year after year with every batch.

Class V, VII & VIII would have atleast one teacher who would be their escort for the whole trip. His job was to constantly overlook movements of all these boys in town. He would roll-call the first time on reaching Mussoorie, once just before the matinee show at the movie halls (Picture Palace & Vasu) & finally after the movie was over before pushing everyone towards school. But there were boys missing on these roll-calls who would F@#K off to Dehradun only because the movie they wanted to watch was not showing in Mussoorie? Did teachers know of all movements? This would happen every second Saturday, year after year with every batch.

In Class VI when we started visiting town on our own, the bus ticket from Jharipani to Mussoorie was Rs.3.50 each way. Any one of the chosen cuisines - South Indian, North Indian, Mughlai, or the Chinese lavish lunch at any of our favorite cheap joints would cost on an average Rs.15. The most waited & wanted movie ticket would cost Rs.4.50 if taken in the front 10 rows & Rs.6.50 if taken in the last 10 rows. So, the maximum you could spend on a trip was Rs.28.50. Our princely pocket money handed to us by our House Masters on the morning of the second Saturday, just minutes before rushing to the Bus Stop was Rs.30. To save that extra buck for one extra round of video game, boys would walk the 9 kms from Jharipani to Mussoorie. The walk has its own stories. Some other day, though. Am sure, with every passing year, during those years too costs of most of the things would rise. While passing out from school in Class XII, the then Class VI, VII & VIII would still get the princely pocket money of Rs.30 & seen running to the Bus Stop & take the road, reach Mussoorie before the bus, saving the buck & making stories on the way. This would happen every second Saturday, year after year with every batch.

There were times, when some boys did not have even Rs.30 in their kitty with the House Master to make that visit to town. House Masters were kind enough to give credit to boys who would ask for it. They would mark the money credited with red ink to avoid any confusion while explaining the account to respective parents. But there were also boys who would forego the trip. Reasons ranged from F@#king off to Mussoorie on Sunday to see their girls to reasons best known to them. No one asked them, why. No one even asked what they did back at school. But the moment boys from town were back, the boys in school would be the more important ones. They were the ones who would have to listen to each happening lived by each boy that day; right from - the sensational free bus ride by fooling the ticket conductor this time, the new video game at the game parlor, the way that girl looked at me at the card shop, the super-duper masala dosa etc kinds of stories. Batches changed. The stories remained the same. Walking through the corridor on the second Saturday evening, this would happen year after year with every batch.

Every second Saturday was a new trip. Yet, everything was the same. Why? Well, I told you. It was a mystery trip.

Cheers

K

Fast Forward

In school, far away from our families, the only means of news reaching each other was through letters. Infact, in junior school, every Friday, the last two periods was officially the “letter writing” time. We would write religiously & the letter was devotedly same. We started with “My dear Mummy & Daddy” and ended with “Yours Lovingly”…. In between there were four paragraphs, the first declaring that “I am hale & hearty” and I pray to the Almighty of all near & dear ones “sailing in the same boat”. The second paragraph was for general happening of the week at school, the third & the shortest paragraph for the “Sunday movie” and the fourth giving the details of the weather. Oh, since we had “nothing more to pen down” we closed the letter sealed it with a kiss! This was a ritual every Friday till class V. As time passed by, letters became shorter, frequency became longer & very naturally the content kept changing from letter to the frequency of it. To ensure letter writing remained a religious activity, every house had a Letter Writing In-charge whose job was to collect letters every Friday from every class, count it to the number of students in the class, report shortage to the House Master & handover the letters to the Head Masters’ Office Bearer to post the letters.

No one complained. because it was as much fun writing those letters as not writing & bribing the Letter Writing In-charge which made the House Master run behind you & finally writing a letter himself that “your ward has been penalized for not writing to you”. The penalty was no pocket money for the Saturday Tuck Man. What was funny that time was that there were guys who went through various magazines to make “pen-pals” & regularly exchange letters, but would avoid writing letters to their parents. It seems even more surprising that we would spend more than four to five months without hearing the voices of our parents & siblings sitting & waiting at home for us to come on vacation. There was a year in between when students refused to go on vacation stating it was very hot in summers “down in the plains”!! How selfish could we get? Or was it simply bliss of being in heaven? May be both….

Times changed, we went to college. Parents started giving us extra pocket money so that we could go to the nearest STD Booth & call them regularly. The same routine ensued. Initially we would call them religiously twice a week, one working day and every Saturday night or Sunday morning. This slowly became once-a-week call, which progressively became once a fortnight. However, the “extra” pocket money never stopped.

Mobile phones changed the way we started communicating. There were parents who could not afford two mobiles. They bought one and gave it to their bright young child. To save money & inconvenience to the child, they would call and beg her/him to pick the call whenever they did so. Guess, times change, people don’t. Initially, we picked calls regularly. Then we would pick and cut short the conversation stating some excuse. At times, we have not even picked calls from our parents saying we are in no mood to talk to anyone! Some would type in an SMS saying, “am busy, will give a missed call later”. But we never forget forwarding SMSes to each other, sometimes useful, mostly a non-sense sentimental message or some joke & sometimes just a smiley!! Forwarding an SMS means you are remembering that person in that short moment & “keeping in touch” in a way. Communication has surely become fast. But it’s getting based on forwards, more often…

I want to rewind to the times when we would play at leisure and not live life on fast forward mode….

Cheers

K

Two to Tango

It’s been a long time that I got time, chance or an inspiration to write something. Or rather, I could not get all three in sync. If there was time, there was nothing to write on. If I got chance to write, it was not the right time. There had been some incidents which did have its little impact but then, there was no time.

Well, today I have time, there is a chance to sit and think too. And there are couple of inspiring thoughts too. One of them is usual, one is a risky proposition and there is one which certainly can wait for some more time to mature. So, I shall choose to write something on me.

I always thought I was a regular guy with a normal life. Not that I have realized I am a maniac and lead an abnormal living. I am a sane being with common verve. But what I have started realizing lately is the existence of more than one person inside me. It’s getting more and more obvious to me everyday. I fear if others have realized it.

Just like everyone else, I like being in attention but I love my solitude. I don’t like being asked to do things but I want to be supported. I believe people spending overtime at work actually are less productive and I myself end up spending more than needed hours at work. People ask me if marriage has changed life. I know it has, but I reply otherwise.

I agree there are situations when one does things which s/he may not totally agree to. Sometimes circumstances make it tough for people to follow their convictions. On many occasions I too have been burdened by times when I had to operate on others’ will. I would want to believe that most of the times that I felt I was not this person were when I was forced into being someone else. May be most of the times were such too. I cannot say if it never dawned on me or may be I was avoiding it. But I have started to wake up to the fact that during those times it is not me. We are at that stage of our lives when out of 24 hours, more than half of the day is spent at work. Hence, most of the incidents when I fight with myself are in office. And it may not be because of my Boss always. The reason may have been a colleague, a subordinate or even a visitor. I would have to confess though that there have been not so professional times of internal conflict also.

I am sure this is not what is called split personality. But there are moments when there are more than one thought in my mind. Many of my thoughts are different from my actions. Some of my actions are what I would not think of ever and then, there are some which are only a part of my odd fantasy.

But now, sitting, thinking and writing this column, I am again made to think by someone inside me. Is the other person really not me? In two different situations, I may react differently. But in the same situation, can I have two different reactions? I want to say yes, but I am thinking no.

To an open mind, asking a closed ended question. Does it always takw two to tango?

Dance with Me

I still don’t know why was it called Fancy Fair? Infact, unlike city schools we never even had a fancy dress competition. Following the British rules and regulations, students were not allowed to even keep civilian clothes in their custody. For every formal occasion we were supposed to wear our cleanest, smartest and the same old maroon school uniform! The British while leaving the country had passed on this school to be run by Indian Railways. What a coincidence! Our school color was maroon. No prizes for guessing, we were famous by the name “rail ka dibba” school. Well, back to the Fair.

It sure was the day of the fairer sex. Everyone knew you could not do much with the way you looked. Everyone had to wear a white shirt, grey trousers, maroon school tie, a maroon blazer and black leather shoes. But it had to have something fancy, to get its name, right? So, some boys had fanciful double breasted blazers. I don’t remember any girl wearing one of those. Girls too had almost the same combination of colors to experiment, with white shirts, navy blue tunics, maroon school tie and maroon blazers with black leather shoes. Now that I recollect, I think most girls used to keep it low profile by wearing a navy blue pair of socks while the more bold babes used to match their navy blue tunics with white socks.

Was there anything more innovative? Oh, there were few bolder than the rest. There was atleast one Rahul Roy hair style flaunting “chap” in each batch and one Pooja Bhatt hair style flaunting mushroom cut “dame”. Yeah, yeah, these style icons used to date, sometimes changing partners in quick succession. My guess would be because deodorants not being very popular back then. I did see some boys using hanky perfumes as deodorants though.

Anyways, just like any school annual fete, enthusiastic teachers and the simple, stupid but studious kind of students used to make teams to run stalls. Every student used to get about Rs. 100/- worth coupons to spend in the whole day. Some boys used to sneak in currency and buy coupons from others though. There would be about 30 stalls with variety of offerings. Food stalls were the most popular because this was the only day when you could eat as much junk food as you can be sold by the same teacher who would have handed you “one tight slap” across your face yesterday. It was followed by sporting stalls especially the Russian Roulette. The least favored were the toy selling stalls with kids from Junior School spending most of their coupons there again and again. Toys were of the worst quality with one toy being bought atleast thrice to see it through the day.

It’s hilarious getting reminded. Hot Dogs were the hottest selling item despite it being sold by a Junior School teacher who was dreaded even by Class XII students. She was the only teacher who would hit a girl as hard as she would hit a boy and hit a boy as hard as she would hit a fourth class staff. Russian Roulette was run by a Boys School teacher whom very few in their entire 12 years of life in School had seen smiling. I passed out 12 years back. He still resides there. Latest news coming in still says he barely smiles.

How I can I forget the “Juke Box”? This was our Dance Floor. You got few minutes to dance with girls on the songs of your choice. This was one of the very few avenues to interact with girls. We used to hear steamy stories of what used to happen inside this stall. Best part was, it was covered from all sides. Hence, whatever happened inside were stories turned into epics being passed on from batch to batch. The first time I went in, I was becoming part of history. I remember the looks on others faces when I walked out. The ones who had never been inside the Juke Box had exclamation marks. The ones, who were there before, had a question mark. The former still believing the epic, the latter as if asking did we do anything what the epic says? I was in a dilemma. I did not know whether keep smiling because I had been in such close proximity with the “dame” or to curse myself blue and black. She had said, “dance…, the music blasted and I started dancing, unmindful of her presence.

She completed the sentence standing alone.

Janamash-tummy

Preparations would start as early as a month prior to the day. Cultural programs to be performed were selected first, with performers for the cultural programs chosen next. Rehearsals would begin finally with costumes being decided, characters switching acts to suit the occasion. During one of those auditions only I discovered that I could sing too! This was in Junior School where everything was conducted under the able guidance of teachers. More on it, later. In Senior School, it was different.

One thing common in both schools though, was many students keeping a full day fast for Lord Krishna. Children who used to fast would get boiled potatoes and milk for breakfast and lunch. Well, am sure all the girls did it for the Lord. I cannot say the same about the boys. Certainly, not the few around me. And, these few include me. In Junior School, it was the Dinner. Breaking fast at dinner which was a grand and lavish affair for the ones who used to fast, tasted like the best menu of the world.

In Senior School, there were no cultural programs to be rehearsed for, no costumes to be decided and no hoop-la around the day. It was just another holiday for boys to chuck studies for the day and just play, jump around and relax. Boys used to fast, dinner becoming just an incentive, though. I don’t even think we ever thought of Lord Krishna. The main reason was the princely pocket money of Rs. 10/- for the day which the select few who fasted would get to buy fruits! And, did we buy fruits? Krishna knows, we did not; atleast not for our own consumption. In the junior most class, Class VI, part of that money went to serve fruits to seniors. We could kill or die for ‘Aam Paapad’ and ‘Chatpati’, a moong dal snack. But one boy could not afford to buy both. So, it was dutching of whatever was left in our hands to buy both items and share among hungry boys. But as we were growing, our appetite was growing too. We now had some more money to buy our Aam Paapad and Chatpati. We were hungry no more. But then after these snacks, we used to feel thirsty. How to quench our thirst?

Our stomachs were full, but an empty mind is a devil’s workshop. After some thought, we had a plan ready. We announced a one day football tournament for the junior section (Class VI, VII and VIII). Entry fee was Rs. 20/- per team. To increase entries, we said, one class could field upto three teams. Matches would be back to back and of 30 minutes duration. The winner would get a trophy, a memento each for the six players and the two teams reaching the finals would be treated to… yes, Aam Paapad, Chatpati and Pepsi (quenching thirsts, more of the organizers than the team as all matches were back to back and only water was served to players). At the last moment, the master mind, Master PK Singh introduced another interesting rule. No substitutes were allowed ensuring the number of mementos to be distributed being fixed, fixed number of bottles of Pepsi being ordered and minimum organizing skills involved. All classes fielded three teams each. The tournament was a huge hit. The best part was both teams in the finals being from our batch.

Needless to say, no trophy was handed over, no mementos were distributed. There sure was a Grand Treat. We were hungry no more. We were thirsty no more. It was a perfect Janamash-tummy full day.

Vicious Circle

Michael Phelps consumes 12000 calories of food a day, which means, he eats more than atleast 12000 Indians in a day. Naturally, he has the strength of 12000 Indians and can win such absurd number of medals and set world records and then himself break them! I wonder why does he win so easily? I think with those 12000 calories a day, he must be farting better under water to give him that extra buoyancy to float, swim and surge ahead of his fellow competitors!

On a serious plunge, ofcourse, it’s an achievement. We have started winning medals at Olympics. It only shows the determination, grit and the mindset changing in Indians. We have started believing we can win. But what upsets me again is the limits we set for ourselves, still. We have now started saying, “a bronze is what is assured”. Why? Why cant we think that we can win and assure a Gold & Silver? Only when we start thinking and then begin saying it loud and clear, is when we will finally start believing in it. But then, we believed in KPS Gill. I really don’t know if one man can single handedly screw a national game? I am sure there were other reasons. But if a single man can be attributed to control and save a whole state from burning out, he sure can manage bigger stick tricks. Am sure he did his best on both fronts.

We have always believed in belief though. Our belief system is stronger than belief itself. We believe in existence of God. Actually, Gods. I hear India has more than a crore Gods to believe in. Not a surprise. With more than 100 crores minds, there is always different mind sets and separate beliefs. At one age, we believe everything anyone says. A little later, we don’t believe our parents but our friends, we don’t believe our teachers but the rogue rickshaw puller. Infact don’t believe as much in our own self as on a stranger and the various colored stones he promises will change our world. Belief is such a relief.

Life is a vicious circle. One does not have an answer to if the chicken came first or the egg, count starts from zero or one. You never know if you have to start believing you can win only then you can win or only when one starts winning, one starts believing s/he will always win?

My guess is everything comes from habit. When something becomes a habit, belief follows. If no kid is told s/he is a hindu or a muslim, taken to a temple or mosque every Monday or Friday, s/he will never get to know the difference. Only when something is repeated endlessly to ensure it becomes a habit, it becomes belief. Once it becomes a habit, one starts defending it. The ones who do not follow it brand it as a good habit or a bad one. Smoking becomes a bad habit, drinking milk is a good one.

When the only jobs in India were offered by PSUs and a handful of private companies, it was always a six days a week working. No one complained. Sunday was the only holiday. It was cherished and enjoyed by one and all, working or the unemployed. With MNCs coming in, they brought their value and belief systems. We started changing habits. We wanted Saturdays off too. We needed more relaxation and de-stressing. Why? Do you think you work harder than your mother or father worked in their working days? I don’t believe so. But our parents do believe so. The circle is complete.

cheers

K

I am a (p)roudy Indian

I have not seen much of the world. Like many, whatever I gather is from the limited exposure I get by meeting people, listening to strangers speaking among themselves, observing situations around and reading a bit of newspapers and magazines. And I realize, there is not much of a difference between an uneducated but street smart stranger and the worldly wise evangelizing Indian. None of them have done anything much for the country. The former, is in the country and votes for money. The latter has become a citizen of a so called more civilized, modern and developed country and comments on the functioning of our government for which he never voted. I did not vote for this Government. I never voted for the earlier ones either. Why, is another day’s writing….

In my friend circle, we had been talking about it for quite sometime now. Why in a country with 100 plus crores population, we have yet not bagged even one individual gold medal? There are some good defenses but no clear winning logic. Yes, we were (are we still) a third world country, a nation with an amazingly low economy and growth rate and a country with close to zilch infrastructure when it comes to development. Come to think of it, our Government’s focus was never even Education, leave alone Sports! But with Anubhav Bindra’s feat, I could not but sit and think of the so many heated arguments we used to have among friends. It is India’s 61st Independence Day and the year also goes down in India’s history as the first individual Gold Medal year. He brought a cheer to one and all. But what have all of us done for this one boy and his country? I cannot think of anything.

One of my friends’ has not even cared to vote. Beggars are a parasite to the society. Never give them even one rupee. But since my friend is giving up smoking and doing it slowly he throws away half his cigarette which costs five bucks per stick! Oh don’t tell anyone, one of my friends evades paying taxes only because it’s getting so expensive to live. There is no alternative. Another of my friend is interested in social service though. She has even opened a small office in a lavish neighborhood. She meets rich people and convinces them to donate. It is such a daunting task. No wonder she has goes off abroad to unwind, atleast twice in a year. About me, huh, well, Singh is King. And I am the King Maker. I do not think twice before spitting on the roads. It does not matter whose watching, when I am under pressure, I pee. Keeping the roads, stations and public areas clean is the administration’s job. My job is to dirty them so that their job is safe. When am in high spirits, I play music in my car which has a music system installed sway hundred ships to shore. I am not bothered that my neighbor may be having an entrance exam the next day or there was a death this very day itself in the locality. There is a low beam in headlights too? When my dad has bought even the road for me, why should I not use the headlight in full beam? Why did he buy a big car which cannot even blind the driver of the bloody small car coming from ahead? Next time, I will kill him if he crosses my way. What is the possibility an aspiring Anubhav Bindra being in that car? One in a hundred crores. So, why bother?

I will not talk of another poor country like ours, Jamaica, which has possibly won more Gold Medals than us. Till now, Michael Phelps of US of A has won 14 individual Gold Medals in 2 Olympics, i.e. 8 years. He sure will get more. India has won 9 Gold Medals of which just one is an Individual Gold Medal in 108 years.

Anubhav Bindra has made us proud and I am the (p)roudy Indian.

cheers

K

Vodka & (vir)gin

Vodka & (vir)gin

I was meeting my school boys after a long gap in time. Walking in, just one look at the faces, changed in many ways, but still the same genuine and warm welcoming smile and the bear hugs, brought back the smell of wet moss and oak trees leaves. Back in hostel just off Mussoorie, we were amidst Oak groves, hence, the name Oak Grove School. It was a British school passed onto the Indian Railways once India got independence.

Not to mention, it was an all boys’ sit out. It started with the clinking of glasses and ended with ‘one (more) for the road’. And all talks were of school days. The two most outstanding and long discussed topics though were, well, no kisses for guessing. The name has them - pegs and legs. What stressed me to write are the two extremes. About how we never even thought of booze ever while in school. Never did we think, talk or discuss of trying out booze. Not even once. And about how we always used to talk of sex. All the time.

Sitting there, I was wondering how the discussion kept swaggering between these two extremes but sides had changed. Boys were discussing how often one of them would go out on drinking sprees in groups and return with a new set of acquaintances whom he would have befriended in one of the pubs while pub hopping, how one would doze off in the loo of a pub all sloshed and others equally sloshed would forget him and zoom off home! There were unabashed confessions being made. Pendulum touched the other extreme now…

There are Don Juan De-Marcos in every batch, eternal lovers who can’t keep their eyes off budding flowers, and on whom Cupid pours all his love showers, blindly. He never has any shortage of love games. Players of the opposite sex come running to him like opposition rugby players charge the player with the ball. There were stories of their sexcapades doing the rounds of corridors and class rooms. How a senior was seduced by a junior girl, a junior boy impressed a senior girl, how a girl got even with another girl by enticing his so called boy friend and how boys won bets of kissing a girl within three meetings. We were discussing all this and how was our current our sex life, or was it alive at all? To the utter dismay and shock of most, the ones predominantly thought as future macho men and current dudes were the ones still looking to be laid. The laid back and easy going guys were getting it easily. I am sure there were guys who had mastered the art of either faking it really well or making it like the sticky snail in the shell.

Sex was being discussed lesser and lesser as time passed by in our lives and during that evening too. Being men, most of us were surely having an animated discussion and debate on sex-episodes but then there were some who were passive contributors. Not that they did not like the topic. They loved it. Either their vodka shots were short or their virgin days (and nights) were longer than the others. I am not telling you who was on which side.

One thing was certain and clear though. We all were still virgin to the thought of sex. Like normal men, after those light talks and heavy booze we were as horny as ever. I must have pressed my car horn even for an ant trying to cross the road before me.

cheers

K

Growing (B)old

Growing (B)old

Never in my life have I ever thought what I would do, once I am old. I certainly am growing old. But with age, one tends to get more and more confident of things. Right? I mean, shouldn’t that be the case? You see more, experience more, learn more and hence start reacting better with each passing day. During a conversation with one of my newer acquaintances, the individual time and again kept referring to age being a barrier to most of the things in life. Going out, enjoying life, experiencing new things, giving up old things, getting that new hair cut, high time to start taking risks. What started me to think was the next statement after the word risk, “Guess I should get married”.

Have people started thinking marriage as a risk? Or was it always this way and just that they have now started accepting the fact that it is? I believe, the point where you have to decide whom to get married to is the risk. Everyone fears pointing her/his finger towards that one individual with whom your life would be spent. I could visualize the old movie scene, where the judge says, “to be hanged till death”. Then the pen signs the dotted lines and the nib is broken, once for all. Is that how most people think?

What crap am I writing anyways? I was about to write something else. Or is it? Was it marriage or was it about getting old? I think both. You get married by a certain age and start taking life as if it’s changed. You are asked to start thinking differently (read responsibly). And why, because now, you are not one but living as a family. You are responsible for more than one life. One has to think twice before even thinking anything, ten times before doing anything and hundred times before saying anything. But a life partner should be someone who can extrapolate the joys of life, someone who gives you a new orbit of existence. And not start restricting your thoughts, words and living. You have to start doing new things, which may not necessarily mean giving up some old ones.

Ladies are asked to give up their jobs after marriage. Men are asked to stop visiting friends as often. Smoker men are asked to quit, non-drinking ladies have to start drinking. I don’t understand, what is the harm in maintaining status quo? Sometimes, one has to do things to make the “other” happy. But doesn’t that “other” has to also understand that this gesture is to be reciprocated. If you expect something which the basic human need which can be provided by another human being, that same need is expected by the first human being too.

I believe, we all at some point do think of the times when we hurt someone knowingly or unknowingly. We do realize some action, some words; some act of ours has turned that other person sour. Most of us, ignore that moment. Not because we are insensitive but because we want to avoid the reality that we hurt that person. We do not want to accept the fact that we have made someone go, suddenly silent. During those silent times, you look for that one thing that could have triggered the start of the end. Sometimes, it is not the last word you said before the conversation trailed off to silence. Infact, it was the silence that you kept when a reaction was expected from you that is the cause of the silence now.

I am getting old. I am trying to get bold. Bold enough to react when needed. Say what is expected of me and expect what is said to me. I am old enough, getting bold enough to start accepting my mistakes and others. Bold enough to be forgiven and forgive.

Cheers

K

Learn to Learn

Learning

Last two months have been hectic, tiring to say the least. First it was the joining of a new top person (read CEO) at the business, followed by exit of my immediate Boss. Being a small team, once he was on his way out most of the work which had been performed by us in the last 12 months had to be explained to the new set of people.

New people have new, seemingly better and eager to ‘change-the-world’ ideas. Nothing which is in practice is good enough. Not that we were doing a fabulous job of whatever we were doing. But then, everything was functional and well understood by the current set of people. I agree there were areas to improve on. We were learning.

I started in a company where I was the first Management Trainee (MT) ever taken in a support function. I was a fresher with no previous exposure to any work place of any kind. But, I had a great pack of colleagues. Not one person in the company ever treated me as a Trainee. They expected me to have a solution to situations at all times. Coming from a reputed B-school, atleast in that part of the country (did I say World Famous in India??!!??) has its toll.

Thankfully, my Boss was a person who had been in the company for as many years as the age of the company. He knew exactly what to do with me. On the very first day he had told me, no one knew what to do with me. No one had thought on my utility, if any. I would not have any scheduled Trainee Program nor a Mentor as in other ‘matured’ organisations. Management was hiring MTs because many so called ‘good-to-great’ organisations do so and we want to be a great company one day. Not realizing, between good and great, there may be some more evolutionary steps. Also, one first needs to become a ‘good’ organisation to start treading the path as flash-lighted by some publicly acclaimed thought leader. He told me, I have to learn. And to start learning, I need to know what the best way to do so is? Different people learn differently. He told me, may be he cannot help me learn anything. But, atleast he can try making me realize how do I learn?

And what he taught me shall remain with me all my life. He would point out the moment when not to react than react at the wrong moment, understand the difference between urgent, important and what people may need in life and what they want from life. He had told me, there are things people can do without. But just because someone else has it, we want it too. Not realizing that if they don’t have that, the other person does not have what we have. And if we have to possess that, we will have to give up what we already possess.

It is important to learn. But what is more important is to learn to learn. May be, my Boss was not a jargon throwing, hi-flying, slick and suave, smooth-talker. Guess, what he meant was that I need to have a learning attitude. He may not have taught me much on the professional front. Or may be, he did try teaching me some professional stuff too. But what I learnt from him was more subtle yet stronger. He taught me how to learn. Thank you, Mr. Nair, Prabha Boss to all his learners.

*********

Ready made

Ready made

I know someone who got married at the age of 22. When I heard that, for a moment I almost started laughing. And suddenly, I was impressed. The most common discussion we used to have among friends while growing up was, what is the right age to get married and finally, when to start a family? The number of people I have had this discussion with and the number of times I have had this discussion, 22 yrs was no way close to the age we ever finally agreed upon.

I keep thinking when is the right age to start, well, anything. When should children start going to school? When should one start tuitions? When is a boy/girl ready to start body building, dating etc. When does one decide to get married or start a family? Someone who is settled financially, has a supportive family, no or minimum personal liabilities and ready to take on more responsibilities. In effect, s/he is ready to move onto the next level of existence, the higher orbit of living, the next stage of maturity. Does one get married the day/month/year one gets into a job? Or wait for a reasonable bank balance, a fair amount of soul searching for the soul mate, a considerable research on prospective partners? Does all this depend on a certain age? May be or may be not.

Since the time I have started working, the most common phrase hear is, “we are not ready for this.” Companies are wary of many “new” ideas. Well, not exactly new, per say. Many of them are being practiced by big companies. I call them, “best practices”. Any practice when repeated over numerous time intervals becomes a habit. Proper documentation supporting this habit makes it a process. A process is a document with a valid scope, consistent inputs, logical flow, quantitative and measurable outputs. When these measurable outputs over time are linked to business imperatives assisting to increase productivity, generate revenues or cut costs, in the long run is called a “best practice”. Nothing is achieved in a jiffy. Neither 90% marks in exams, 6-pack abs or creation of an MNC.

Why are people apprehensive of following best practices? When is an organisation ready for the next challenge? When a start-up, an organisation will have the ‘ignition’ issues. Management gurus call it the gestation period I think, so be it. Six months to a year, they have the teething problems. A year to a couple of years down the line, they have to do the balancing act between a start up and a rapidly growing company. Next comes a new set of issues of becoming a successful brand and hence people and promoters leaving the organisation leveraging on the new found success. So, when does an organisation start following best practices? One year of starting, two to three years of running and settling a business or right from the word go? Does it depend on the age of the company? May be or may be not. By the way, I don’t support the term “Indian MNC”. All Indian companies are “lala companies”.

There is nothing ready made. Everything is made ready. Even a so called ready made trouser needs alteration. Customization of processes may be necessary. What is important is ‘intent’ and ‘value add’. Best practice organisations have an ‘intent’ to institutionalize processes with business metrics which ‘add value’ to the organisation. Long run is the key here.

One mother and nine months make a baby. Nine mothers and one month do not make anything.

***********

Be Patient

Just this Thursday, I was informed by my parents that a very young cousin of mine was being operated in AIIMS for some eye problem. It was known that the kid was born with deficiencies and needed special care right from the start for his low vision in both eyes. Otherwise, he was a very intelligent kid and highly energetic. Despite his vision being low, he still manages to run faster than kids his age, passes all his subjects with high grades and is known for his practical pranks, age no bar.

Knowing him since his birth, I thought I should pay him a visit post his surgery. I reached AIIMS and called my uncle to know their ward number. He said they are at the ENT department for some check up and clearance. I was impressed. Just after a day of surgery, the patient was being checked and cleared for discharge. I asked the enquiry desk and got to the ENT floor. What I saw and got to know there was unheard by me till date.

The kid patient had not been operated on Friday as there were no pre-surgery clearances attained by various necessary departments as mandated before an eye surgery. They had spent 5 days already in the private ward of the hospital talking to all possible eye specialists, doctors and nurses. No one had once mentioned the process to follow. How on earth would I know if there is water in Mars? Only a Martian can tell me that, right? Did I tell you that the private ward for which they were paying 1500 bucks per day had a TV which was not functioning, leaking bathroom taps and an Air Conditioner plug which gave out sparks sometimes?

If that was not enough, at 0800 hours in the morning the ward boy who was to take them from the private ward to the ENT department actually took and made them sit in the Neuro-surgery department. When in doubt and asked by the parents of the kid, some official of the hospital reassured them that this is the right place as the ENT and Neurology department have shifted to this New Building, where they were waiting. Till 1100 hours with no sign of the Doctor, they enquired again. Their papers were taken and kept by an Attendant. When the Doctor finally arrived, they were told the real news and that they would have to come back to the Old Building and visit the ENT specialist. By this time I reached the hospital and was with them. This was not all. The ENT specialist recommended nasal and Chest X-Ray, based on which she would give a clearance or otherwise. When asked where the X-Ray department is, she told us the way but she was not sure if it would be open as it was a Saturday. Rightly so, the X-Ray department closes by 1100 hours on Saturdays. The kid who had woken up at 0600 hours for clearance checkups had not had breakfast as advised by nurses. It was well past 1300 hours and we had got clearance from even one department. We went back to the ward and made him finish his lunch. We had to go out for X-Ray and wait for an hour for the report.

It was 5 days that the patient had come for an eye operation. Leave alone the eye, when we came back and showed the X-Ray report to the ENT specialist there was a new recommendation been made. The kid needed a nose surgery as his nasal glands had expanded and may pose a problem in the near future.

It was 1800 hrs. All departments were closing. The only department that we could finish during the day had given us news of a new surgery which am sure would entail a new set of pre-surgery clearances to be taken, new buildings to sit and wait at, some more X-Rays to be taken and may be news of another possible surgery.

I may be over reacting as this was someone known to me. No hospital can ever become a tourist spot. No one likes visiting the place either. But I suggest all to visit a hospital. Especially, a Government hospital makes a wonderful setting. It is worth mentioning that many private hospitals are not far from becoming perfect examples for aspiring proprietors of hospitals. Just walking across one of the corridors will give you an idea how not to run a hospital. Ofcourse, the population, the amazingly ill facilitated, mismanaged and disdainful medical facility of our country is such that I really think MHA (Masters in Hospital Administration) as a professional degree and aspirants of this course should become really serious about it. Proprietors and our Government, no matter which party forms it, will gain much from this set of academia and professionals in a big way. The patient community will certainly be benefited on a large scale.

As to parents of the kid, all I can say is, he is our patient, let’s be patient.

My Fish Philosophy

We all want to make it big in life. And only big names give you bigger opportunities. So, target is to get into a better engineering college or a higher ranked management school to get that big opportunity. Big names do not visit small campuses. The notion is you don’t get a good job in a small company. There is certainly difference between job and work. You may have a job but may not be working. You may be working but you cannot call it a job. What they do at big brand companies is totally different, more valuable and ofcourse better paying. What one does there is a good job. What others do is just work. Right?

What big brands do certainly would be valuable and that’s why they have become bigger and a more valued company. Being much bigger and more prosperous, they certainly can pay well. But is what they do different? The sales guy sells, the marketer creates that USP, the finance guy ensures working capital; the HR official tries to keep people engaged. I guess in all companies that’s what all these people do in their respective domains. Isn’t it? But then, everyone wants to be the best. Every company wants to be No. 1. So whose pressure is bigger? No. 2 racing to become No. 1? Or No. 1 trying to maintain his position at the top? Their pressures being different, I presume their strategies are different. Strategies being different, shouldn’t they do different things? May be, Mr. Shiv Khera is right. Winners don’t do different things. They do things differently.

I started working as I was not from a big named or high ranking campus. To put records straight, I loved my work. I still do. Infact, sometimes, I am tempted to call it a good job. But how I wish I could say that. Or, in other words, wish I could lie a little better.

Anyways, having seen some of the seemingly big brands closely, working in small subsidiaries of some and interacted actively with others, I have come to a safe conclusion for the moment that they certainly do something different. They make sure it’s either different people doing the same job or the same people doing different jobs. So, a sales professional after a while would get into marketing, finance professional would start his HR stint soon and a finance professional would be asked to run a business. When job rotations like these happen, it is planned well. However, if it is the first set of rules - different people called in to do the same job it has to be well planned. Heads have to roll. Cabins have to be vacated and name plates have to change. There are indirect remarks, slow accusations, false disagreements, direct confrontations which finally end in quick exits and even quicker replacements. It is not an easy sight. In both situations, for the company, big or small, it is an important thing to do. When it is important, someone important will be impacted.

Growing up, I used to reckon, how important is being important? During one of those days I had read somewhere, “it is nice to be important, but it is important to be nice”. I doubt, somewhere in the effort of being nice, I missed becoming as competitive as it was required to be. And till today, I keep asking the same question to people. What is important, being a small fish in a big pond or a big fish in a small pond?

I have the same buying confusion, to buy an aquarium with variety of fishes or a gold fish in a small round vase?

*********************

Testing Times

One dayers or test matches, which is the more enjoyable version? This question has been doing the rounds for along time in a lot of discussions. More recently, with the introduction of 20-20 version, the smallest version yet, has been preferred by many. They have their logic clear. They say it is less time consuming, more power packed performances, more exciting and thrilling to watch and ofcourse, more money generating. Granted. But, where is the game in a 20-20 match? A basic cricketing sense is needed, but a “wham-bam-thank you-ma’am” attitude is what’s required. A test match is where the game is in its full grandeur. Captains strategize, bowlers introduce tactics, batsmen are in their elegant best and teams play with flamboyance of gentlemen. There is panache, power and purity. It’s akin to making love. In the other version, there is no foreplay, just the three letter word… SIX or OUT. Who does not love having some quick fun? But the choices you make define you. Speedy dates makes one a much talked about personality in her/his own circle of influence for a while. But a long standing relationship creates respect, makes you an example.

I love test cricket. In all sincerity, not many, including the undersigned was hopeful of a test win when India traveled to play against the Aussies in Australia. Still one of the best batting line ups on paper, a decent bowling line up and a couple of renowned fielders, India had a good mix. But probably not good enough to beat a team which had 14 straight test wins and were eyeing to break the 16 in a row test wins set by their own countrymen! Moreover, with Australia playing 13 players against our mere 11, it was never a fair game. I thank them who decided umpires should stop wearing their white coats. Doesn’t go well with the colors of the game.

But what a win! Finally, after 5 years a team was able to beat the world beaters and that too in their own courtyard. India has done the unthinkable. And what a test match it was. Every minute was a thriller, every ball not to be missed and every appeal exciting. It was pure magic. Cricket, at its best. When a cricket match yields a result a day before its supposed to finish, you are assured it was gold class cricket played. Both sides have to be congratulated. There is only one winner though.

Contemplating now, I believe times have changed. Time is at a premium. We don’t have the patience to invest time and energy on even things we love. So, if we have a one-day match why watch a 5-day test? If we have 20-20 version, which starts and ends in half a day, why go for a full day match? Why just cricket, even for relationships, we have speed dating as a way of life now. Try out twenty people for 2 minutes and decide who is a catch and who is out of the boundary. Only here, it’s the reverse. The one caught stays and the one lifted out is, well, out. Strange are the rules, stranger are the players! Game on.

So, what does one like, a test match, a one dayer or a 20-20? Can we have a shorter version from 20-20? Who knows? May be. It sure is testing times for the thinkers of the game. How to make the game even more interesting, even more gripping and even more profitable? Guess, the question should be, what does one want?

Why do we call it a one-night stand, where all we may get is a lay?

**********************************

A Gentleman’s Life

It had been more than a month “Om Shanti Om” had been in the theatres. I don’t miss many movies, I must admit. But somehow, I have been jinxed with SRK movies. I am yet to sit and watch “Deewaana”, start to end, at one go. I have seen it in bits and parts, atleast 15 times! But people had given good reviews about OSO. Well, most words were for Deepika Padukone. Infact, I read a very correlative article in one of the top dailies on the Sunday editorial page about her, by a pretty senior writer! Well, that’s beside the point.

I strolled to my near by theatre where it was running. Being a Sunday and walking distance to me, I was but naturally not in my best attire. To be frank, I was close to my worst. But then what the heck, I thought. The ticket guy would not see anything other than my face, the security guard would be too busy moving his hands all over me as being a multiplex, there were too many people to body check and by the time I enter the hall, it would be dark. So, how does it matter what I wear? Even though I walked to the multiplex, I was early. I took my ticket and waited in the lounge. I started observing people. There were people of all kinds. Nothing striking in most of them, until my eyes stopped at a couple. If there was an on the spot Best Dressed Couple Competition in the multiplex, they would have won it pants down, or is it hands down? The best part being the couple would be in their late sixties, if not more. The lady in creamish colored saree with soft green border, matching shawl and an amazingly glowing face was looking stunning. She reminded me of my junior school headmistress. The gentleman in a three piece suit, matching tie and with both hands in his trouser pocket was standing like a fully loaded Knight. Looking at him I was reminded of my father. Actually, some of his words.

From Gregory Peck to “Dus Kahaniyaan”, my father has come a long way. And not just watching, but having positive opinions on these extremes. I have always loved the way my father dressed. I have never bought a tie in my life. The very few which I have are from his collection (or gifts to me). From being a man who would wear a tie even in the peak summers of June, monsoons of August and ofcourse the winters of December with a three piece suit, he has now reconciled to wearing them only on social events and outings. It sure helps that he manages to attend one social event atleast once a week, if not more.

Till some years back, I used to wonder why would retired people, now living a relaxed and an easy moving life, be attired in their best on most occasions, even on Sundays. One day I asked my father about this dressing mania people have. Those days he was still working and was wearing his suits and ties with natural zeal. He smiled and replied, “It’s not the attire, it’s the attitude. There are people who can buy the most costly suits and priciest of ties. Just ask for a handkerchief from a well dressed man. Eight out of ten will hesitate. They are either not carrying one or even if they are, it’s not worth sharing. Also, you can never judge a person by his attire, but for better perceptions, always look at shoes”. He had said, “Small things which you don’t keep notice of, are noticed by people who know the difference between a well dressed person and a well groomed man”. I make sure of these two things atleast, always.

According to me, OSO was a movie worth becoming a flop. Two things which probably saved it were small things, the two dimples dazzling on Deepika’s both cheeks. But that’s beside the point. On the way out, I saw the same man wiping his face with his handkerchief and I smiled to myself while sliding my hand into my jeans to reach for my kerchief. Then, I noticed his shoes. My worst was better than most bests around. Thank You, Baba for these small things in life.

********************

Prayer

I always possessed more than I ever needed. My parents had provided me with all that I asked and what they thought I should have. I had a fountain pen before I could write with a pencil, shoes before I could tie my laces and a muffler before winters arrived. Not to forget to mention they sent my elder sister and me to a residential school in Mussoorie. We had the best upbringing we could ever imagine.

While in school we could walk as far as we could, but had to return by the time the big iron bell stopped resonating, its echoes among the hills. We were not allowed into the girl’s school but knew everything that happened there, told to us by teachers themselves. We knew our house master had our money but we were afraid to ask for it, fully knowing it is our money. We were brought up in a very lenient yet disciplined, restrained yet open, casual yet constrained environment. We lived a very, very sheltered life up on the hills. And as is said about the people on hills, we really were a very straight thinking, simple hearted and content beings. One fine day, we graduated from school.

Or should I say we joined another school? Here, time was our teacher, struggle our best friend, dreams our play time and every situation a new subject to learn. Back in school, the Principal was never to be seen. Infact, he was not supposed to be seen, called or asked for. The mere mention of his name caused chaos. Children ran to their class rooms, teachers ran to their mess and the other staff converted to robots doing things in the best mechanical way possible. He was terror personified. The Principal visited school only in extreme cases, something celebrating or reproachful. God save us if it was the latter. Here in the new school too, we still had to get to see our new Principal. From the serene surroundings of the green mountains we were thrown into the big bad burly world. We had no clue who was running the show. Who was the Principal?

In the new school there was nothing in common with my old school. There was no leniency, no openness, nothing casual. Everything followed a regime, each move was restrained and every thought was constrained. Or was it? I thought to myself there must be something in common between these two schools of thought. As time passed by teaching, struggle helping out most times as a friend and circumstances bringing out new craters of wisdom, things got clearer and better.

I can clearly see the commonality between the two schools. Rather, should I say the glaring difference, the reason of existence of such schools? My old school always taught me to be grateful to others, appreciate a fellow being’s feelings, sympathize with emotions and respect all religions. My new school has taught me live for self, sympathy is for the weak and there is only one religion. We live, pray and die for just one thing.

Hence, I say, there are no atheists in this world. We all believe in God. Money is God.


**** End ****

Musical Siblings

Since childhood, we had heard people humming around at home. Ma was a decent hummer. She would get these Rabindra Sangeet hiccups from time to time. Baba (Dad) was a surprise. His talent to be able to sing came to the fore a little later. Or may be we could comprehend his singing much later as he would mostly emulate Elvis on one extreme and Talat Mehmood at the other. We did not know if he was trying to scare the crows and cows from the garden or singing. Anyways, you must have guessed by now that we were genetically musical.

But my first brush with active music and a real participant was through my sister. I was discovered as a potential singer only because of her. I dedicate my singing star status to her. She had joined residential school a year before me and had become a really popular singer. When I joined in 1987, one fine day, I was playing Badminton when the racquet gutting gave way. Some boys went about looking for a replacement racquet. I walked towards the indoor badminton court where students from Senior School used to come to play Badminton. To my surprise, today, there was no Badminton match there but a group of children sitting around a few musical instruments. I got interested and went closer. Suddenly, Mrs. Tyagi came in from behind and held me by the shoulder. She announced, “Look who is here? Jayanti’s brother!!” As if that was not enough to embarrass me, Mrs. Sharma called me right in between the crowd and said, since your sister sings so well, am sure you too sing well. So, C’mon lets hear something from you.” I felt like the roof of the indoor court blasting to space and a white flashing light coming down and sucking me into the skies. But nothing like that happened. Instead, there was complete silence in the hall with the kids looking at me with wide open anticipating eyes and the two music teachers smiling and waiting. I did sing.

Once I finished there was pin drop silence, followed by a loud round of applause and an instant offer by Mrs. Sharma to sing the lead song in the forthcoming Janamashtami celebrations. From the next day, we started rehearsing for the cultural program. When my sister got to know about this, she was ecstatic. She did not state that I was singing a song on Janamashtami. She kept telling everyone that her brother too can sing!!

During rehearsals there would be just about ten people among whom we would practise. I knew the whole school would be there on the final day. On the D-day, however, more than 200 people giving a blank stare made me sick in the stomach. My throat went dry and my fingers went numb. What saved me was the song, though. Being a devotional song, once the harmonium gave me the starting key, I closed my eyes and pretended am feeling devotional. I was praying no doubt. But reasons were different.

If I remember correctly, my first public song which gave me instant stardom was, “Papa kehte hain, bada naam karega”. I am sure, like all Dads, Baba too used to think the same. He gave up soon though. But it was my sister and her singing prowess that gave me the opportunity to sing for a crowd and keep singing. My sister is a super singer. Infact, she graduated in Classical Music. Although, she has been the Big Bully sister to me, I simply adore her. I have seen very few people with the kind of single-minded focus and dedication towards anything one aspires for. And ofcourse, I love her singing. Oh, actually, I love her.

******************